


Out of Touch

by eccentric_artist_221b



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Dermatillomania, Embarrassed Peter Parker, Excoriasion Disorder, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Healing, Hurt Peter Parker, Isolation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, One Shot, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Tony Stark, Recovery, Self-Harm, Shame, Skin picking, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Touch-Starved, anxiety conditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29958513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eccentric_artist_221b/pseuds/eccentric_artist_221b
Summary: They find the kid six months too late. After Peter loses mobility in his legs, Doctor Cho attributes it to severe PTSD and touch starvation, Tony doesn't hesitate in trying to reverse the symptoms.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 185
Collections: 2021 Irondad Sprint Event





	Out of Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my dearest readers!  
> Here is my contribution to the 2021 Irondad Sprint Event! Out of all the prompts given, #instability and #numb jumped out the most. Please enjoy the feels.  
> Side Note: For those of you faithful lovelies that are waiting for the WW1 Sequel Update as well as the next installment of Petey and the Hermit, I truly am working on them and am sorry for the horrific wait! They are coming very SOON, and I really mean it this time. <3  
> Please accept this tiny whump ficlet (a contribution to 2021 Irondad Sprint Event) as both an apology from the author and a gift for waiting.

_The cure of the part should not be attempted without the cure of the whole._

_-Plato_

........

“The kid was laughing when we brought him in.”

Tony’s gut twists at Steve’s report. “That’s supposed to comfort me,” he replies, as they enter a nearby elevator together, heading for medbay.

The doors slide closed and Tony sniffs and jerks his chin up, taking another sharp inhale of the stale air as the lift makes a tiny jolt in its ascent.

“Look, if anybody could come out of this relatively unscathed, it’s him,” Steve carries on, no end in sight to the usual high levels of hope and optimism.

Tony’s cynicism waits to counter on his tongue, well-suited to fight against his opponent, but he holds it back.

"Also, May's on a flight home from Seattle. She'll be here tomorrow."

"Thanks, Cap."

Fluorescent lights shine through the grates above their heads and Tony squints up at them.

Was Peter able to see any light in his six months of solitary confinement?

Had it been black as death most of the time, or was it a sickening bright white inside his tiny prison? 

Tony sways as a pressing sensation reaches his temples, the air in the elevator thickening as he swallows down the nausea building in his throat.

“Tony-”

“I’m not-I’ve got it, Cap. Stop.”

The sliding doors release the billionaire as he staggers out into the hall, waving off Steve’s hands.

The evidence for Peter’s location had shown up earlier that day.

There had been no time to prepare for it as if the documents themselves were sent to mock Tony when he arose from his first full night’s sleep since Peter’s disappearance. Never mind that it had technically been a full day's sleep and he'd awoken around six o'clock at night.

“Tony, they found him!” Pepper cried as she flew into the bedroom, “They’re rushing him to the compound right now!”

He had taken in words like, ‘safe’, ‘alive’, ‘loss of mobility', and ‘shaken up’ from her lips, but they didn’t erase the ones that crowded his mind on a daily basis…the ones that weren’t confirmed but possible…

_…‘starvation’…‘trafficking’…‘assault’…‘torture’…‘failure’…‘death’._

As it turned out, Peter had been nothing more than an attraction for a wealthy underground company, kept in a forty square foot box with impenetrable glass and materials stolen from a S.H.I.E.L.D base.

Any paying customer could see the ‘boy with spider powers’, but Peter could not see them.

He had zero contact with the outside world, drugged each time his ‘cage’ was to be cleaned and fed through a tube from the ceiling like an animal.

The more strength Peter used to try and escape, the more impressed the elite buyers became.

Had Cap and Rhodey not discovered Peter when they did, he would have graduated to a bigger enclosure, likely made to fight against beasts and other mutants after the people began to tire from his usual escape attempts and his eventual decision to give up and lie in a corner.

Lucky for the gang of criminals, they were soon rounded up, captured, and sent to prison where they would be safe from Iron Man’s unadulterated wrath.

Tony collects himself just in time to see the doctors wheel Peter into another room.

The kid lies out on a gurney, dressed in a hospital gown, hair washed and combed back as he stares up at the ceiling.

He looks nothing like Tony imagined: an emaciated skeleton, hollow cheeks with a lifeless expression.

No. This version of Peter is who he remembers before the kidnapping, minus being a touch leaner and the healing sores spread in various spots over his arms and legs.

As Tony reaches the room, he can see the teen shivering as the doctors replace his IV and lift him onto the hospital bed.

Time slows and sounds dissolve as Tony takes in Peter’s smile, the way his tired eyes crinkle with eyebrows climbing upward as he’s instructed to lie back.

A nurse laughs at one of his jokes as another one shakes her head.

Tony watches one of Peter’s hands wander down to a crusted sore near his elbow, fingers picking at it with a vengeance before the boy’s eyes lock on to him.

For just a fraction of a second, Peter’s face falls as if he’s a child happening upon a ghost or a little rabbit caught at the end of a hunter’s rifle, but it changes to a full toothed grin before Tony can question it.

“Mr. Stark!”

Tony’s nostrils flare at the sound and he doesn’t hold back from butting through the nursing staff to get to him.

“Kid.”

Warmth fills his chest as he feels Peter’s trembling arms wrap around his torso, but the feeling is short-lived as they soon snake beneath his chest to push him gently away.

Peter tries on a different smile, “That’s not a hug I’m just…grabbing on to you for leverage…you know, so I can pull myself up,” he chuckles, attempting to sit, and deciding better of it.

Tony smirks for the teen’s benefit, not missing the way those coffee-brown eyes turn bloodshot as they look away.

Peter might be able to pull the wool over the eyes of the other Avengers and nurses, but he isn’t fooling his mentor.

“Dude, I just wish you could’ve seen Mr. Rhodes…and Cap-I mean Captain Rogers,” the kid continues, glancing at the window reflecting the lights and Tony’s frame hovering over him. The sun had set hours prior.

“After they snuck in and carried me out, they just like…stormed in on the dudes that captured me and then started slamming guys around. It was an epic rescue.”

Tony clenches his teeth at the upbeat description as if Peter had merely observed the event rather than lived it.

“One guy tried to take them out with these, like, really high-tech weapons I’ve never seen before,” Peter continues, “-but then Cap took his head and flipped him back and…I’m pretty sure he snapped his neck or something but it was so…it was-”

“Peter, let’s take a few deep breaths,” Doctor Cho interrupts as the heart monitor beside the bed beeps a warning.

“Why is it beeping?” Peter replies, exchanging glances with the doctor and Tony, “I’m fine.”

Cho presses her lips into a thin line, grabbing for the oxygen mask hanging on the wall behind the bed, “You are absolutely fine, but humor me and try to relax a bit.”

Tony shares in her concerned gaze and it distracts him from the veins popping up around Peter’s neck as she puts the mask over his face.

A strangled noise seeps from Peter’s teeth as he rips it off and throws it at the window, shattering the entire panel as glass rains down onto the floor.

Tony jumps to shield the kid, even as he chides himself on his logic.

How many times had he laughed at his mother throwing an arm across his chest in the car as she pressed on the breaks?

Peter’s survived a building collapse, this situation isn’t any different. Instinct is a powerful phenomenon.

“I’m sorry!” Peter says, color fading from his cheeks and lips.

“You’re fine.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Tony exhales through his nose, laying a hand over Peter’s chest, “Hey, easy.”

“Peter, you need to breathe,” Cho interjects, “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

Peter’s eyes roll upward, arms going stiff as boards as the doctor comes to his aid.

Tony’s hands cup the boy’s face, “Kid!”

“He’s passing out,” Cho says, pressing a few buttons to lower the bed, “Peter, I’m going to lie you back, okay?” she adds, stuffing a stethoscope under the collar of his gown and pressing the cold metal to his chest.

“Anxiety attack.”

“Yeah…I figured as much,” Tony breathes, avoiding Cho’s look. Why this innocent teenager had to always mirror him in the worst of ways was still such a cursed mystery.

He takes a few steps back and shakes off his sweatshirt, hoping he’s avoided glass going down his back as he lets the doctors do their job.

“We’ll get him into another room,” Cho says, “Then you and I are going to have a chat.”

Tony gives a curt nod, “Yes ma’am.”

……..

_“The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout…_

_…down came the rain and washed the spider out…”_

_A gruff voice sings the children’s rhyme as they hover over Peter, giving no warning as a bucket of cold water splashes over him. The nameless faces are always full of confidence right after the sedatives hit his bloodstream._

_For the first month or so, he fights it hard, growling and shouting as they jeer and kick his paralyzed frame._

_He’s long since given up, embracing the drug when it comes, letting the heaviness wash over him._

_‘Just a hug…just a hug…’s just a hug,’ he mouths so they won’t hear him, head rolling against the ground as he forces his body to relax._

_Warm. Compressing. Safe._

_He learns to love those first few minutes it takes effect, imagining May’s arms squeezing him tight. Sometimes…he even lets himself believe that Mr. Stark’s here too, sitting beside him, talking to him._

_“I’m almost here, bud. You know I’m coming to get you, right? Don’t you give up on me.”_

_Peter nods, leaning into artificial heat, itching for movement, a heartbeat, skin, something, anything other than the glass and floor beneath him._

His eyes snap open to a different ceiling, fresh adrenaline draining from his system as he recalls the past few hours like a slap to the face.

He stays frozen for a solid five minutes, the fragile state of reality teetering over a cliff until his eyes adjust a bit more in the dark hospital room.

Safe.

Checking out, his fingers find the scab underneath his bicep first, short fingernails picking at the patch of dry skin on the edge of it and ripping and tearing until it separates from the stinging wound.

Gritting his teeth, he moves to the smaller one next to it, agitation flaring when the stubborn skin stays put and provides no relief.

He longs to bring his knee to his chest so he can reach the usual spots on his shin and ankle, but his legs won’t comply. They haven’t moved for over three weeks now. He’s almost 99.9% sure it’s a side effect of the drugs.

No matter. There are other prospects on his shoulders and back.

_Stop, Peter. Stop…Stop! You’re home now!_

_Disgusting._

_Freak._

_Pervert._

_What if Mr. Stark sees?_

_He’ll notice the blood…think I’m gross…that I’m not right in the head._

_And it’ll be true._

_Is any of this true?_

_Is Mr. Stark really here?_

_I’m alone._

_Alone._

_I’m alone._

_Alone._

_ALONE._

“Kid!”

Light hits behind his eyelids as Peter feels his hands ripped away from his ribs. He doesn’t even remember them traveling there.

There’s blood on the sheets, on his fingers, every sore within reach reopened and on display, some of them soaking through his pale blue gown, and Mr. Stark, the last person on earth he’d choose to witness this new compulsive behavior, holding him at bay.

“W-w-what happened?” Peter cries, looking down at himself like it’s the first time he’s seen something like this, “Mr. Stark…I don’t know-did I? I must’ve scratched them up in my sleep. Th-they were itching a lot.”

Tony lets his arms go, expression relaxing as he turns to grab some gauze and other various wound care items before turning back to his charge.

He goes to clean and bandage the first arm, lifting the boy’s limb again and something akin to a tidal wave crashes into Peter’s chest when he does.

“I’ll do it,” he cries, pulling away and sitting up to grab the supplies, “I can do it. I’m not a baby.”

Tony tucks his hands in his pockets, staring at the chart across the room before clearing his throat and pulling a rolling stool over to the bed.

“Pete.”

“Yeah?” Peter responds, unwrapping the packaging and holding up a sleeve with his teeth.

“Your doc and I had a nice long conversation…some diagnosis possibilities…or…affirmatives.

“Yeah?” Peter muffles against the fabric, keeping his eyes on his task.

“Yeah, like why your legs aren’t working right now…why you’re dealing with some other things.”

Peter stops unwrapping and shrugs. “It’s just the drugs, right?”

“No,” Tony replies, waiting for another response, “No, the drugs aren’t the problem here.”

“I’ll be okay though?”

“Yeah.”

Peter studies Tony as the older man fiddles with his wedding ring.

“There’s something else, isn’t there,” he says.

Tony’s expression confirms it. “Well, it’s nothing life-threatening.”

“What? What is it?” Peter asks again, lines appearing on his forehead.

“Helen showed me the full extent of your…trauma, for lack of a better word.”

“What did she say?”

“Putting it simply…you were in confinement for a really long time, bud…That does a number on the brain.”

“My brain’s messed up?”

“Just listen,” Tony replies, leaning onto his knees, “Both Cho and Bruce think that…along with some serious PTSD symptoms…you’re touch starved.”

At first, a look of confusion crosses over Peter’s face as he hears the new term, but as he forms different conclusions, Tony watches the moment it sinks in, the kid’s cheeks turn a dark shade of pink as humiliation swims in his eyes.

“So…you’re saying that my…lack of human contact is the reason my legs decided to stop working?” Peter asks with a laugh, “Come on, Mr. Stark. You don’t really buy into that, do you?”

Tony gives a mocking wave, “Yeah, you’re right. Why trust two of the most advanced doctors in the world with their conclusion.”

Peter can’t hide a smirk at the snarky reply, turning to look up and closing his eyes when the lights sting them.

“How do they treat it?” he asks.

Tony blushes right along with him, rubbing his hands together and turning to look up at the little TV screen in the corner.

“Well, what do you do with patients dealing with food starvation?”

Peter’s face twists, not keen on the implications, “Mr. Stark, I don’t…really want a bunch of doctors touching me.”

Tony laughs through his nose, “No. That’s…terrifying. Nobody wants a stranger holding their hand. It’s got to be someone you’re comfortable with.”

Peter turns a shade darker. “Oh.”

Tony gets up and grabs the pitcher of ice water sitting on the side table, tipping it over a Styrofoam cup and guzzling it down before returning to his seat.

“May isn’t here yet,” Peter murmurs, matter-of-fact, his gaze flitting off of Tony’s like a bird afraid to land.

Tony nods, lifting the empty cup again and tapping the side to munch on the crushed ice left behind. “She sure isn’t.”

Peter purses his lips, “W-Well…Who…”

“Who do you want?” Tony replies, shrugging and stretching over to place the cup back on the table.

“I guess…Dr. Cho? She probably wouldn’t mind…cause she’s…it’s her profession.”

“You just met her.”

“I know, but…”

“What?”

“Who else is there?”

Tony lets out a long sigh, “As previously asked…who do you want?”

“I-I don’t know. Anybody.”

“Kid.”

“What?! Am I supposed to ask you?” Peter snaps, grabbing for another bandage and an alcohol pad.

Tony tilts his head to the side and lowers down to Peter’s line of sight, “Do you want me to?”

The kid looks up to the opposite wall, shrugging again, “I don’t know.”

“It’s pretty simple,” Tony continues, “You either do or you don’t.”

Peter’s chest hitches, dropping his task and flopping back onto the pillow.

His mentor lifts a hand, “Hey, It's okay, alright?.”

“It’s a hundred percent not okay! I’m probably…one step away from becoming a full-fledged psychopath!”

“Come on,” Tony rolls his eyes, “Here, give me your hand.”

Peter presses his palms together, color draining from his skin again.

“Don’t look at me like that. Pepper’s trained me. I’ve got a pretty good bedside manner.”

“What if I…freak out or something?”

“Then I stop.”

Peter runs his tongue along his teeth, “What if I like…I don’t know, lose control and start crying?”

“Then you lose control and start crying.”

“Won’t that make you super uncomfortable?”

“Kid, for the love…you have got to stop thinking about others for two seconds of your life! You’ve been isolated for half a year! Let me help you.”

_…and oh, those watery eyes might just be the death of him someday._

“If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

At last, Peter nods.

Tony starts by taking the kid’s hand in both of his own, careful to not move it around too much, nor apply pressure as he waits for some sort of reaction.

The result is instantaneous.

Peter crumbles the minute they make contact, covering his mouth with his free hand as his body shakes with sobs.

Tony swallows the lump in his throat, “Yeah, that’s alright, bud. Ride it out,” he soothes, “It’s an adjustment.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Cho says this is natural. Those bastards really messed you up, kiddo. There’s no better way of explaining it. We’ll take things nice and slow.”

The trembling intensifies even as Peter’s cold fingers warm in their calloused cocoon.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Okay…You want more?”

Another nod.

Tony rubs Peter’s arm next, soft strokes at first until he’s told that it tickles. He tries squeezing the arm up and down next and the kid nods with more tears leaking through his closed eyes.

He’s just starting on the other arm when FRIDAY informs him of Peter’s spiked anxiety levels.

Even before Tony can ask Peter how he feels, the kid’s breathing takes off like a shot, hands grabbing for the sidebars on the bed and crushing the material like a soda can.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Peter, take it easy. Breathe.” _…and please don’t kill me while you’re at it._

“Hold me.”

It’s spoken so quiet that Tony thinks he must’ve misheard. “What?”

“Can you hold me?”

If Tony wasn’t crushed by guilt before, it's pulverized him to powder now. No sixteen-year-old in their right mind would ask for such a thing. Not like this. Not unless they were petrified with fear.

The older man does his best to stay nonchalant, gauging whether or not he can avoid impaling himself on the jagged edges of the now splintered sides of the bed.

“Well…we’re going to have to get creative here. Let’s…let’s see if we can...”

Tony pulls himself forward, climbing next to Peter and encouraging the kid to burrow in once he settles.

“Okay? We good?”

Peter grabs for the back of Tony’s shirt, too shy to respond as the warmth pacifies his anxiety.

“Well…that escalated quickly,” his mentor murmurs with a chuckle, “But, that’s okay. I’ll do this every day, all day if it helps you recover faster.”

Try as he might, Peter’s words still catch on his tongue, deciding if this was the best or worst thing that’s happened to him in a while.

Tony kneads his scalp, running little circles down to his neck as Peter melts more with each ministration.

_Definitely the best._

At some point, later on, he wakes to find Tony putting some cotton knit gloves over his hands.

“Hey, Pete. These are just to keep you from picking away again. Go back to sleep.”

This part was supposed to be mortifying…no, the freaking end of the world…

…knowing that Tony clearly understands he’s been peeling his skin off in some demented effort to self soothe, but as his eyelids threaten to close again and he watches his mentor finish getting the gloves over his fingers, the shame dissolves like snow.

There are no judgments in the older man’s eyes, just a tenderness he’s never seen before.

“Okay, back to curing,” Tony says, returning to his place as Peter curls back into his side.

“This is nice."

Tony's chest vibrates with a soft laugh, “Well, it better be. I mean look who you're holding on to. This is top-tier prescribed therapy. You’ve got good insurance, right?”

“Nope,” Peter sighs, closing his eyes and yawning, “The guy who owns this building's a solid dude, though. He pays all my medical bills.”

He half expects Tony to shoot something back, but he can hear the fondness in his voice.

“Well, thank God, you’re covered then,” he says, pulling a blanket over them both.

Peter’s eyes well up again, “Yeah. Thank God.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, guys! Please let me know down below if the whump hit the spot. <3  
> I know it was a bit vague, but I didn't have a whole lot of time and I needed to wrap it up, so obviously, this is just the beginning of Peter's therapy after such a traumatic event. I just felt like giving him some much-needed safety and peace.


End file.
